


I don't know how you were diverted

by CelesteFitzgerald



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Rough Kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:41:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22415656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelesteFitzgerald/pseuds/CelesteFitzgerald
Summary: During the recording sessions for "While My Guitar Gently Weeps," Ringo finds some of George's noises to be a bit...distracting.
Relationships: George Harrison/Ringo Starr
Comments: 10
Kudos: 65





	I don't know how you were diverted

George was a sadist. He had to be. There was no other possible explanation. As they recorded take after take of “While My Guitar Gently Weeps,” Ringo was slowly losing his mind—and, more concerning, losing his control over the lower region of his body.

It was a phenomenal song, there was no mistaking that. But each time they neared the end and George began his string of ‘weeping noises’—in other words, _moans_ —they were fucking _moans_ —Ringo could barely keep it together. The noises themselves were torture enough, but George just _had_ to pair the sounds with his tightly shut eyes and his rising and falling chest.

Ringo couldn’t tear his eyes away—which, unfortunately, led to him frequently missing his cymbals and, one embarrassing time, letting his stick completely fly out of his hand. Of course, with each mistake Ringo made came another run-through of the song. Fabulous.

After the ninth time through, Ringo’s mind began to wander. The studio disappeared and was replaced with his own bedroom. George’s lean, naked body was beneath him on the bed as Ringo sucked on George’s neck and grinded their hips together, all while George let out that same, delicious string of moans that would be forever immortalized on a record for the world to hear.

 _Fuck_.

Another ‘fuck,’ audible this time, interrupted Ringo’s imagination and brought him back to the studio. “Fucking hell, Ringo,” Paul said again. “Have you forgotten how to keep time?”

Ringo muttered a weak apology and hoped that his drum kit would hide his flushed cheeks. His mind was hazy as the others chatted around him, discouraged with the slow progress of the song. In the end, they decided to call it quits for the day, and they all began packing up to head home.

The others filed out of the studio one by one, but Ringo lagged behind, taking his time putting away his sticks. By the time Paul had gone, only Ringo—and George—remained. Ringo didn’t know why George was taking so long to zip up his damn coat, but the way George bit his lip as he finally got the zipper to move was _not_ helping Ringo’s situation.

When his coat was successfully on, George was ready to go. He bent down to pick up his bag, then he let out a deep, loud sigh as he stood back up—

Ringo was on him within seconds.

George’s bag clattered to the floor as Ringo pinned him against the wall. “Ritchie—wha—”

“How dare you?” Ringo growled. “How dare you make all those dirty fucking noises with so many people around?”

A glint appeared in George’s eye. Then, a split second later, it was gone. “Dunno what you’re talkin’ about, Ritchie. I was just singing.”

“Like hell, you were,” Ringo said, firmly grasping George’s hip with one hand while his other hand slipped under George’s jacket and shirt to stroke the warm skin underneath. “Don’t know how the others could resist you after hearin’ all that. Fucking maddening, that was.”

“Mm,” George hummed as his hand came up to tangle in Ringo’s hair, pulling his face closer until Ringo could feel George’s breath against his lips. “Mad, are you?” George whispered.

“Mad about you,” Ringo said before crashing their lips together. Their lips and tongues collided with a passion that Ringo had never known before. Then George began letting out more of those filthy little moans, and Ringo almost slammed him onto the floor to take him right then and there. “You’re a fucking tease,” Ringo gasped into George’s mouth. “You fucking arse.”

George laughed breathlessly. “Ahh, ‘ _fucking arse_ ,’ you say?” George asked, looking deep into Ringo’s eyes. “I like the sound of that.”

George’s guitar wasn’t the only thing ‘weeping’ that night.


End file.
